The Proposition Movie Review

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John Hillcoat and Nick Cave serve up a ravishing and brutal new vision of the
western against the Australian outback in the tense and lyrical The Proposition.

Following such films as Straw Dogs, Unforgiven, and A History of Violence,
this is not merely a violent film; it is a film about violence. But rather than
implicitly criticizing the audience's acceptance or enjoyment of violence,
The Proposition focuses on the emotional havoc done on and by its characters
in variously motivated acts of violence. The violence is abrupt, unsettling
and devastating. It interrupts placid scenes so frequently that it could come
across as a cheap trick for audience thrills, but the effects of the violence
as played out in other interactions between characters and the complex web of
violence and counter-violence that plunge the characters into moral conflict
shows this tendency as thematically motivated. One of the great achievements
of the film is the incredible tension in a straightforward, practically paced
Christmas dinner scene. By the time this scene comes around, the audience is
held in the same grip that holds the psyches of its characters, permanently
scarred by the brutality that engulfs them.

Yet while eruptions of violence show the movie at its most intense, the rest
of the movie is often more gripping and always more poetic. What makes this
film unforgettable is a distinct and pervasive atmosphere conjured by the synthesis
of searing cinematography of an incredible landscape (used to more effects than
I have room to explore here) and an outstanding soundtrack that could dethrone
Neil Young's work in Jarmusch's Dead Man as the most transcendent,
innovative soundtrack in a recent western.

This is all without even mentioning the terrific cast of characters. Stand
out performances of Nick Cave's tough, wry screenplay are given by Ray
Winstone as Captain Stanley, divided middleman of the law and the land; Emily
Watson as his wife, clinging to semblances of civilization and obsessed by the
rape her husband is sent to avenge; John Hurt as a repulsive yet charismatic
bounty hunter; David Wenham as Eden Fletcher, manifest destiny personified (brutal
selfishness in the guise of sophistication/divine right); Guy Pearce as Charlie,
the story's quiet yet intensely conflicted center; and Danny Huston as
his older brother, a Kurtz figure that facilitates our relationship with the
environment (seen many times on the brink of a cliff with his arms widened to
the desert expanse) in a way that parallels the golden-throated bushranger in
his gang as cruel and mythically beautiful. The aboriginals, both employed and
mistreated by the imperialists, are given a respectable role by the filmmakers,
quietly dubious of and slyly mocking the civilizing intents of the lawmen.

Hillcoat, I was somewhat surprised to find, is a successful and much sought
after music video director. While the editing compliments the music in an excellent
way, the directing establishes an epochal environment grand and complex instead
of merely entrancing the viewer.

Many elements of this film on their own make it worth seeing; their poetic
synthesis into something mythical makes it a must for those who can stomach
honest violence.